Victimization of a Certain Caliber
by Verse Gypsy
Summary: Post Series, Pre BDM featuring OC and the Crew. Is it possible the Alliance put all their stock in River? Most certainly not. Mostly crew related, but with some exploration of the setting as well. Reviews always appreciated. T for Violence and Language.
1. Exhausted

Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with any of this. That credit goes elsewhere.

A/N: First Fanfic in almost 15 years, so feedback is much appreciated.

* * *

Light spilled over the alloyed metal like two liquids destined never to mix. Steel may have been the primary component in its construction, but to continue calling it that was perhaps similar to calling a tiger a housecat. No, this metal was a fusion of carbon, steel, tungsten, carefully sandwiched into layers visible only with a microscope. The alloy was polished and hardened so totally that nothing marred its surface, meaning liquid would bead and roll off.

Then of course, there was the edge, for no metal so meticulously crafted could be anything but a weapon. First ground down, then honed by a computer driven laser to produce a cutting surface of less than six degrees bevel, then treated similarly to maintain said edge for many years, even under heavy abuse and duress.

This weapon was easily the tool of a killer, and a killer's eyes were reflected in the mirror polish of the blade. Dark, haunted, and set into a gaunt face. "You didn't expect me to forget about our arrangement did you? The killer asked.

Across from him, a man sat in a plain wooden chair, backed up against the wall of the cantina. "Shàngdì zài tiānshàng de bǎibù!" the man said, spitting the plea out through a tobacco stained beard and mustache. Wild eyed this one, a prospector who whiled perhaps too much time away from civilization. It was obvious he'd forgotten that some people couldn't be taken advantage of. "I told you, if you give me a few more days, I can haul gems out of my land!"

The killer smirked. "Your land lies fallow Mister Haband. It wasn't the gems I was interested in though." The killer relaxed his hold on his weapon, watched the prospector's eyes follow it, and then completed the motion of sheathing the blade. "What I want lies atop your land."

"You said you wanted the riches of my land!" Haband said to the bizarre man. Dressed plainly, and wearing an Independent's brown coat, he seemed as exhausted as the first time they'd met.

"I did say that." The killer said before pulling a chair away from a table, spinning it around gracefully, and sitting in it backwards, less than a foot from the prospector. Leaning his arms on the back of the chair, the killer continued. "I was unclear, an error on my part. Mister Haband, I don't want whatever quartz and amethyst you've pulled up. I want to salvage the ship that crashed on your land last week."

Haband locked up. Nobody could have known about that. This far out on the rim, they didn't have the means to scan the skies, and Haband's land lay miles from anyone else's. Knowing about that freighter crash was certain impossibility. There was no way this guy could've known, no way in hell. "I swear I thought you meant gemstones Mister…" Haband trailed off. The man had never introduced himself. He had, in fact, been taking to referring to the guy as Spooky, to really no one but himself.

"Vasili," The killer replied as he ran a hand through his long black hair. It was stringy with sweat from the humidity of the backwater world, and in desperate need of a wash. "Just Vasili, no need for formality."

It was then that he realized that Haband had been stalling, the noise near the doors and the look on the coot's face confirming it. The place had emptied out quick enough when weapons had been drawn, but of course that wouldn't last. It was logical to assume that word would spread of who Vasili had planned on interrogating. Of course he'd have partners.

"Nǐ hěn chǎo," Vasili said before coming to his feet. He turned easily and kept his hands away from his weapons. Following a visual inspection, it was clear he wouldn't need them anyway. Three men, none of them carrying anything but cheap pistols, and fresh from the noonday sun outside. All of them looked much tidier than the prospector, but on a world like this, the royalty was something similar to a vagrant in the core.

"Let him loose," the eldest of the men said, sporting a rather mighty beard. Apparently it was custom on this rock to grow the most impressive facial hair possible. "He ain't do nothin' to you t'warrant this."

"You're right," Vasili said, hooking his right leg into the leg of his chair. "But you did." He said, before whipping his leg around in a roundhouse kick, using the momentum to fling the chair towards the three men. He hoped for a distraction, but was pleased to see the middle man catch the synthetic wood directly in the face.

On the move, brown coat flying behind him, Vasili began taking in his surroundings. Big beard leveled his pistol, but his eyes weren't adjusted yet. He'd miss. Middle was out flat, but Junior beard was smarter, knew what leading his fire meant, and aimed to do just that.

Triumph echoed off the younger man as Big Beard's shot went wild. He'd show the old bastard up, maybe the town elder's might demand a few inches off that monstrous chin bear for penance. He squeezed the trigger, but his target wasn't there. The dude was quick, but he'd seen quicker. It was more that he knew the boy had a plan, and didn't let himself be a part of it.

Instead, hand clenched into a fist, the dude moved diagonally into the young man before driving his strike into the boy's solar plexus. At the moment of impact, trained reflexes in Vasili's body triggered off as quickly as a gunshot, causing him to drive his shoulder and hips into the hit. The boy just crumpled where he'd stood.

When Big Beard finally leveled his gun back on the skinny man, he was shocked to see the slide locked back. He'd only dropped his aim a moment, to avoid shooting his little brother, less than two seconds the dude had to disable his gun, but he'd done it.

For his trouble, the skinny dude kicked Big Beard in the knee, bringing him down to a kneeling position. "Haband's a moron, not worth his time, so he'll ask you, did you already make contact to sell the salvage?" The words came out thick, almost sounding slurred if it weren't for the precision of his speech.

"No," Big Beard lied. "We only just heard about it today."

"I'm tired of poor lies." Vasili said, his accent still thick, as he grabbed his victim's beard. He knotted his fingers up in it, and used it as leverage before punching the man twice. "I want imperative fact."

"Ok!" Big Beard said. The feller from Titan would probably kill all four of them for this, but better him than the gaunt demon who'd forgotten his words. "Ok, gorram it. Yeah, we made contact with…

but Vasili had already let got.

"A man on Persephone, funny accent, offered a little under fair price, but promised quick business." Vasili said, his accent thinning out as his adrenaline came back under control. "Otlichnyĭ," he muttered, the words unfamiliar to Big Beard's ears. It certainly weren't Chinese that was for sure.

"I let you live, you do something stupid, and I have to track you down, you'll wish I hadn't. I've made that clear enough?" Vasili asked, releasing his grip on the man's beard.

"Yessir," Big Beard nodded. It was clear as crystal that the man spoke truth. "No lack of sense here."

"Doubtful," Vasili muttered as he drew himself up fully to a standing position. "You let whoever is coming to collect the salvage to do just that. You just tell me before they put down, Dōng mǎ?"

Big Beard nodded as the gaunt man walked out the door. Once the skinny dude left, he checked on his brothers. Both were well alive, but probably neither one felt much like it.

* * *

Chinese:

Shàngdì zài tiānshàng de bǎibù! – God in Heaven have Mercy.

Nǐ hěn chǎo – You're very noisy.

Dōng mǎ – Understand?

Russian:

Otlichnyĭ – Excellent


	2. Sleepless

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews, I love seeing interest generated. Spread the word, cause after all. You can't stop the signal. Also, I finally managed to read the comics, so later chapters should be a lot more fluent. **

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"Captain," Wash called over the intercom, his tone somewhat less than excited. "You've got a wave up here." There was good reason to be unhappy too. He'd been busying himself with his dinosaurs on the most uneventful trip they'd ever taken to Greenleaf, as a means to ignore the titanic waste of fuel the whole trip had been.

Behind him, the pilot could hear booted feet coming up the stairs, the tread slow and somewhat ponderous. He would have assumed Jayne, but the Captain had been in a serious funk ever since losing out on an actual legal shipping job to a bunch of rookie runners, based solely on the new ship smell in their shiny core-bought transport. It was enough to make anyone angry.

Grumbling, Mal stepped right and proper onto his bridge, leaning over his brightly colored pilot's shoulder. With a flick of a few switches and the depression of a couple of buttons, the Cortex screen resolved itself to life, showing a small, squat looking man in a silly hat. "Hello Mal," this fella said, his accent marking him plainly from the Dyton colony.

"Badger, to what do I owe the unpleasant of this call?" Mal asked, putting on a winning smile, all the while crossing his arms over his chest. Their business was rarely good, and in fact, much more frequently dangerous. It was, however, work.

"I've got a proposition for you Mal," Badger began, his accent near grating on the nerves of the Captain. "Since your last chance went south, I thought maybe I could interest you in a bit of salvage."

Mal's jaw clenched. The way that other crew had swept in, undercutting them ever so slightly. It stank of a setup then, and Badger's confirmation had all but guaranteed it. Mal reached over, and paused the transmission.

"Son of a ruttin' gorram jìnǚ!" Mal swore before resuming the transmission, fighting to put his features back into order, and not feeling like he'd done that great a job. He hated having to take this job, hated that he'd been set up, and more to the point, hated that his time was being wasted. Still, he hated being broke more, which was kind of the way things tended to go, without anyone's help. "Fine, give me details."

"Blue Sun transport ship went down on Sambora a few days ago, well outside of the range of any kind of communications or detection. Got plenty of goodies on board, though most is probably ruined. Why not head that way and see what's worth keeping? Sounds a good plan, don't it?" Badger intoned, seeming perfectly magnanimous about the whole thing.

"What's in it for you?" Mal asked, suspicious as all hell. "You never been the type to hand out a free meal."

"My end's clean Mal," Badger said defensively. "I get a cut from the buyer, finder's fee as it were. Of course, you try selling anywhere else, its hell to pay. Persephone's still somewhat welcoming to you; hate to see that change in a heartbeat."

"You really are some kinda bastard, aren't you?" Mal said, scowling. "Send the details then, we'll get this done, but your buyer better be close. My xīnzàng de yùwàng isn't to run out of gas trying to make it into the core."

"You'll be pleased to know the buyer's two moons away, they're just not welcome on Sambora anymore." Badger said indignantly. He was growing tired of Mal's pretense, as much as Mal was weary of Badger's. It was a vicious cycle. As if to punctuate the point, the small man terminated the transmission.

Knowing his Captain wasn't in the shinest of moods, Wash simply adjusted his course. "We've probably got enough fuel to make it, but we'll be flying wide out in the open to do it." The brightly colored pilot said, his normally cheery voice somewhat concerned.

"Alliance don't patrol to heavy out here, and I don't think we've got many enemies in these parts." Mal retorted, pacing about a bit. "Yeah, we can do this, get us there."

With that, Mal left the bridge, a bit more perk in his step. Still, he couldn't shake the feeling that Badger wasn't telling him everything. The job was too easy, too convenient, and entirely too set up. As he walked into the dining area of the ship, he could see Kaylee and River playing at something on the sofa. Some board game or some such, didn't much matter, so long as River didn't get cracked out over it. At the moment, they both seemed happy though, so he said nothing. Leaving them alone, however, wasn't going to happen, through no fault of his own.

"Cap'n," Kaylee said cheerfully (as if there was another way she could) "Care to join us?" River looked up at him when the mechanic had made her request, a look in her eyes that Mal hoped to mean please no, whatever you do, don't!

Mal simply shook his head. "Sorry girls, got Captainy business. Seen Jayne?"

"He's in his bunk," River said, her voice guttural and gravely, matching Jayne's intonation and inflection perfectly. "In his cave like a troll, whispering secrets to himself, thinking of women and food and shiny coins." She added, returning to her regularly scheduled whimsy.

Mal simply turned at that, letting Kaylee deal with River. Sometimes it was just easier that way. He made his way to Jayne's bunk, dreading that as much as River deep into her madness. Mal stopped at Jayne's room, and kicked the hatch with the toe of his boot. From deep within, the Mercenary stirred, and groggily called up a request to give him a minute. Mal waited just that long, and watched Jayne come up from his bunk.

He looked exhausted, but they'd done almost nothing during the last stop planetside. In fact, they'd done so little that the usual chores that needed done planetside, had gotten done in the shortest of order. "Jayne, you in order?" Mal asked, eyeballing the hired gun.

"Yeah Cap'n," Jayne grumbled. "Not sleeping good. Doc offered me somethin' but I ain't takin' it."

"Well get yourself in order. We're going to Sambora, got a load of salvage, and I expect we're not the only people looking to gain…" Mal would've finished the statement, when Jayne went pale.

"Mal, Sambora's been hit by Reavers three times in the past month!" Jayne said, looking positively terrified. "I saw it on the Cortex, when we was doin' all of nothin'."

Mal pondered it a moment, and that's when he arrived at the culprit for Jayne's poor sleep. "You see that on Action Media?" He asked, certain that the tabloid program had been responsible for all of this.

Jayne nodded, now following Mal to the kitchen. "Ruttin' show, they had cameras all over the place, showin' the towns all mangled up and the like."

"Jayne," Mal began, his tone like a parent soothing a child with nightmares, which was mostly the exact same thing he was doing now. "They do all that on a stage, with computers and the like. Ain't no Reavers hit a place three times and Action Media's the only company covering it."

"Well, it's a good thing you know about that then," Jayne began gruffly. "I knowed it, I just wanted to make sure you did too. I suspect the women might need that explained to them though."

"Yeah," Mal replied, mixing hot water with instant, well, it was supposed to be coffee. Across the room, River rolled her eyes. "You get right on that."

* * *

Chinese:

jìnǚ - Whore

xīnzàng de yùwàng - Heart's Desire


End file.
